And at the End of the Tunnel, Light
by Katiebugg1321
Summary: CB. One night in between Seasons 2 and 3.


AN: My first GG fic! I am _dying_ waiting for the new season to start and this oneshot is my effort to avoid resorting to hard drugs in my desperation. Takes place post season 2, pre season 3.

And At the End of the Tunnel, Light

By: OneSongKatie

Blair squints her eyes as errant rays of the setting sun stream through the windows of the car. The light makes the inside of the vehicle ephemeral, spectrum rainbows dance on surfaces and if she cared she might consider the sunset lovely. The city rolls by outside bathed in similar radiance but the sights and sounds are muted for her, stifled. She feels tired, weighed down, she is not usually so morose but tonight she finds her thoughts drifting, dark.

She considers the direction this car is heading, to whom she is returning.

Today is the first day they did not speak, did not meet for lunch or flirt via text. The first day since he came back to her from seeming oblivion and smiled a real smile and told her, finally, the truth.

And things are great, she muses. Better than great. Amazing. She has been truly happy with him in a way that she never thought possible. She's looked into his eyes and believed herself secure, safe, even.

But today she has felt unsure for the first time since he said the words, and the sensation is tight in her chest. With a sigh, she leans forward and stares down at her hands.

She texted mid-morning as per usual.

_Bored here. Eleanor's nuts, new line has tint issues blah blah. Lunch?-B_

Soon thereafter she received a reply.

_Can't. See you tonight. –C _

And that was it. No explanation, no follow up. It's not as if she needs to know his whereabouts at all hours of the day, she supposes, but it is jarring to have the connection with him broken after all this time. After growing used to having a constant channel open, a constant tie to him, she is cut loose.

She feels helpless. Out of control. Afraid.

Glancing to her side to the empty seat next to her in the car, she wraps her arms around her middle. Her stomach is in knots, has been since the text exchange—longer, if she is completely honest with herself.

She hasn't been able to eat anything all day, and except a few sips of water, hasn't felt like drinking anything, either. It's an old pain she feels that drives this, not specific to him, that lies dormant inside her, sleeping until awakened by her darkest fears—she is not good enough, pretty enough, thin enough.

She is not enough.

Undeserving of love from anyone, let alone her father, her mother, Serena, Nate. Him.

She didn't realize how much uncertainty she's suppressed since his reappearance after graduation. Now she recognizes it—how it has been lingering overhead, hovering ominous and black even after he told her he loved her.

More than that, she thought she had long since worked through the pain caused by his repeated rejections, the tug of war they played for over a year. She thought she'd been able to forgive all of that and put it behind her...

Clearly her feelings are proving otherwise. She still hurts a great deal.

And now she is hurtling toward him, anxiety knotting her stomach. It feels familiar this dread, and it ought to. Her heart remembers in keen detail how it felt to offer herself to him and to be as vulnerable as she's ever allowed herself to be. Only for him, always for him.

And then to be discarded. More than once.

Even more than the rejection, she recoils at the self-doubt, the struggle for the upper hand, the inability to admit the truth. The truth that no matter how they denied it or deferred saying the words, everything they did revealed otherwise. Droning underneath their conversations, a frequency too low for human ears: _I love you I love you I love you…_

She has tried to forget that hurt and to feel safe, and in this moment Blair cannot swallow the suspicion that it's all been a terrible mistake. One she might have seen coming if she hadn't believed so fervently in him and his promise.

When the car arrives at the Palace she stands outside, stares up, unsure. She remembers when he moved out of the Van der Woodsens' place, he mentioned wanting to strike out on his own, live his own life away from the memory of his father. She thought at the time that maybe it was also for her, so they could have some privacy. Now she wonders if there was some other ulterior motive…she feels sick considering how easy it would be to see other girls here, away from the eyes of Serena or Lily, or anyone else who knows Blair.

Her feet proceed of their own accord up the steps and through the foyer, and time seems to slow with each footfall on marble. Blair is a specter, moving stolidly into the elevator, out into the hallway of his floor, until she finds herself in front of his suite.

She stands at the door, immobilized, unable to raise her hand to knock.

Blair half-heartedly brings her hand toward the door but barely touches the surface. This is absurd behavior, uncharacteristic. She wonders if on some unconscious level she has been waiting for this, a sign that it's not real, she is not allowed to be so happy and she is lying to herself thinking otherwise. She merely created a house of cards, and in wanting him so badly she refused to see it slowly, surely collapsing around her.

She numbly begins to walk away, propelled by the invisible fear vise gripping her heart, squeezing till she can hardly breathe.

She hates that he can hurt her like this, make her feel this weak, still, after all this time, after everything. She makes a decision.

She can reclaim control here—she can simply leave. She is vaguely aware this is childish, stupid, out of character. Blair Waldorf does not run away, she fights. Her step falters, reconsidering.

Before she can rally any further, Blair hears a door open.

A voice, silky smooth projects, "Is ding-dong ditch now considered foreplay? While it's not necessarily an obvious choice, you know I love trying new things…"

Blair turns back, caught, tries to cover for herself, doesn't really look at him. "Just…realized I have an early appointment with Eleanor and I forgot my outfit, so…"

She knows how falsely blasé her voice sounds, but she uses the time her mumbling buys her to inch closer to the elevator and escape. He is too fast, though, and a traitorous part of her is relieved when she feels him behind her, feels his arms pull her to him. His breath is warm on her neck. And while the dread fear remains she cannot help but exhale and lean into him, the physicality of him more powerful than anything else.

"What's wrong, B?" She feels him smile into her hair. "Why were you pouting at my doorstep for so long?"

Now she has to cover or declare herself a coward, and this genuinely irks her. She huffs, "I was not, and that's ridiculous. I told you, I left my, my clothes and I—"

Chuck interrupts her, his hands firm on her arms. "That's crap and you know it. I heard a noise and then watched you through the peephole while you stood there staring at the carpet for 10 minutes with that…look…on your face. What's going on?" His tone is faintly teasing but he is somehow more serious tonight than usual, there's an edge to him that she didn't notice initially, at which she now wonders.

She starts to repeat her lie but suddenly feels emotion rising, feels herself careening out of control. She turns to face him, doesn't quite meet his eyes as it all tumbles out of her. "Why did you blow me off today?" She feels her anger turn inward, continues less assuredly, "Your text …it just seemed like…it seemed like you were…like you used to…"

He interjects immediately, clutches her to him, silences her in a rough embrace. He speaks quietly into her ear, one hand on her neck. "I'm sorry about that. I should have called, this day, today, is, it's a bad day for me."

She looks up, meets his eyes for the first time tonight and is struck by the weariness in their black depths. He looks tired and slightly disheveled, and somehow older and younger at the same time. Blair is awash in guilt, she studies him closely, quietly, waits for him to continue.

When he speaks, his voice is low, muted. "It's, it would have been, my mother's birthday."

Blair doesn't reply immediately, just hugs him. "Let's go inside," she says softly, realizing they are still in the hallway. She touches his hair, leads him to his suite.

As she turns to close the door behind them, he gently untangles himself and heads to the small bar area. She sits on a leather couch a little ways away, not sure if he wants her to say something.

He pours himself a drink. Sets it down, changes his mind. The room, lit by a single lamp, is dim and lush with shadow. Though sparsely decorated, there is something she likes about this room and this suite. Possibly she considers it their place.

He fiddles with the glass decanter, clears his throat. She watches him expectantly, it's not often she finds him searching for words, and she is consequently at a loss herself.

He starts to speak, meets her eyes across the room. "Blair, I'm, I really am sorry about today. I know what it must have looked like, but it wasn't. I wanted to tell you, wanted you with me, but I just…" He trails off, looks down, seems to be gathering strength.

She doesn't comment, afraid to spook him into silence. She is at once unnerved and fascinated, touched to be included in his secrets, and ashamed of herself for her doubts earlier.

Chuck exhales, continues. "I do something every year that I started when I was a kid, but this morning, when I woke up I realized that now I have Bart's death to commemorate in a few months. I don't even celebrate my birthday, instead I have these days, these other days that only remind me that I'm—" He stops, breathes. Walks over to where she's seated on the couch.

Kisses her fiercely.

It is almost too much. She is immobilized for a moment, surprised by this sudden action, wonders if she should say something, tell him he's not, he's not alone. That he thinks so breaks her heart and she wants to force him believe otherwise. Also that this year she'll celebrate his birthday because she is happy he's alive and here and warm around her.

But, it is beyond her control, and all she can do is kiss him, hard. She pulls back, but her head is spinning.

"Chuck," she mumbles, struggles to regain control, closes her eyes briefly, then searches his. "Wait, talk to me. How do you feel?"

He grazes his lips up to her ear, kisses her softly while his hands trail up her sides. "Not so awful that I can't do this." Cupping her breasts, he adds in a low voice, "Otherwise, kill me now and put me out of my misery."

She's not sure if she thinks this is healthy and possibly his eyes are shining too brightly, but his touch is luscious and she arches forward into his hands and lifts her face to his, their lips meeting once more.

She decides in that moment she is no longer interested in stopping them, if this is what he needs then she can oblige him. It is easy enough to admit silently she needs it too. Needs him, even when he kisses her with wild, desperate eyes that cause fault lines of pain to reverberate in her heart.

She works at unbuttoning his shirt, intent on the warm flesh of his chest beneath, pushes it off his shoulders, runs her hands over him. Their movements are soft and slow, and he raises his hand to her face, gently strokes her cheek with his thumb as they kiss.

Blair cherishes his tenderness, knows that she alone is allowed this glimpse of him. She suspects that the sweetness she sees on these rare occasions is part of the person he truly is, rather than an exception to the rule. She is suddenly desperate to uncover more of this person, to arrange the pieces he's given her into the shape of the man she knows he can be.

She reaches up, her hands clutch his shoulders, knead the muscle until the tension there becomes pliable, and the kiss begins to open, gains momentum.

He licks his lips, slowly descends down her body with a grin. Devours her neck, slides his tongue over her clavicle. And she knows, too that she loves the person he is regardless, the darkness has shaped him, and the darkness in him matches her own and sets her on fire with want.

Her hands immediately slide into his hair as he moves slowly downward, nipping lightly at her breasts through her blouse, pushing the material up and thrusting his tongue into her navel, tasting the flat expanse of skin just below it. He runs his hands down the outside of her thighs and up the backs, caressing and massaging, bunching up her skirt with his fingers.

She lets out a heavy breath as he unzips her skirt and pulls it down her legs. He slips his hands between her thighs and eases them farther apart, slides up until the tops of his thumbs graze the silk of her panties, his thumbnails lightly scraping against the soft flesh underneath the thin material.

She makes a low noise in her throat, spellbound as he lowers his face to her, presses a kiss there before nipping twice with his lips. He pulls back slightly, studies her, and Blair wonders what he sees, if he notices the pink flush spreading across her cheeks, her eyes glazed with arousal.

He inhales deeply, his eyes darken watching her face. Leans in and nips at her again, harder, uses his teeth and lips until she can feel the moisture seeping through the silk, his and hers, and it is dark, dark magic.

Blair's breathing is quick and shallow as he slides her panties down her legs. She catches her breath as he teases her with the tip of his tongue.

"Oh God, yes..." she whispers.

He tips his head up and places kisses on each breast, draws each one into his mouth, blouse and all, then releases it. She unbuttons the shirt and pulls it over her head, drops it to the floor and reaches for him, pulls him to her once again. He comes eagerly, sucks her flesh into his mouth, swirls his tongue around her nipple, bites gently with his teeth. An electric jolt moves her body and he does it again on the other breast, smiles wickedly against her skin when she shudders once more.

He pulls back, holds her gaze briefly, she thinks she sees desire in his face, but it is frenzied, needy. She is not sure what it means but cannot contemplate any further, as he slowly leans forward and down between her thighs until his lips touch her.

Blair groans low in frustration. He smiles, meets her gaze and there is alchemy in his eyes, something dark and hungry that lurks there, pushes her, pours into her. Somewhere in her brain it occurs to her that this is new and dangerous, but cannot speak as his hands spread her open and he presses his tongue into her. Her body shudders.

Blair's fingers knead his scalp and he looks up, watches her throw her head back as she tightens the muscles in her thighs.

Her breathing is growing faster and he begins to nip at her like before, uses his lips and teeth along with his tongue until her breath catches and she is gone. There is a moment of supernatural, suspended time, then she sobs quietly, draws in deep breaths, her flesh throbs under his mouth.

He stands up and gathers her in his arms on the couch, holds her to him. Blair lays her cheek down on top of his head, embraces him in return.

There is a soft smile on his lips when she opens her eyes and lifts her face to look down at him, the tumult on his face is less somehow, sated. He raises his eyebrows to ask if she is all right, and she nods, full of love for him. He seems more himself now, and he returns her nod with gratitude in his eyes.

Chuck rises, takes a step backward, quickly removes his pants, lets them fall to the floor. She watches him, anticipating, knows he is ready to focus on his own need now. Blair looks down at his erection, then into his eyes, holding her arms out for him to return to her.

They kiss as he joins her on the couch. Blair takes him into her hand, slides up and down his length as they continue to kiss, hot and needy. He pulls out of the kiss to gasp when she swirls her thumb over the tip of him.

"How do you want it?" she murmurs, swirling, stroking, while pressing hot kisses against his jawbone.

He thrusts desperately into her hand. "Now," he says, draws a shaky breath. She chuckles, and he adds, "Lay down on your back." She lies back on the couch and gazes at him from under heavy lids.

Her skin is still red hot, almost aching it is so sensitive. He bites his lip, runs his eyes over her as he crawls onto the couch, moves up her body until his face is directly over hers. They lock gazes, his expression serious, and she spreads her legs apart while he lowers himself on her, positions at her entrance and thrusts inside easily.

He immediately begins to move in earnest. Blair slides her feet up until they are flat against the couch, her hips undulating in counter rhythm beneath him. He kisses her, deep and possessive as his hips thrust deeper. He buries his face into her neck while their bodies collide in increasing rhythm. Blair's hands are on his back, her fingernails press crescents into his flesh. Over and over, he pushes into her, her breath hitching, groaning each time he hits that one spot. The feeling is exquisite. The tension builds within her, uncontrolled, insistent. Raw.

She is close. Suddenly, she clutches him, holds his hips against her tightly, grinding hard, pulsing around him. He comes a moment later, clenching his teeth, groaning into her neck.

Her heart pounds out erratic rhythms as they sink into the couch, his weight upon her unresisting body, soft and yielding. Blair wraps her calves around his, claiming him, and he sighs.

She holds him firmly in her arms, presses her lips against the side of his neck and the top of his shoulder, her chest heaves beneath him with labored breaths. Chuck shifts slightly to transfer some of the weight off of her small frame, and lays his cheek against hers, he closes his eyes.

"Amazing," he whispers thickly, after a long silence.

Blair gasps for breath, feels as if she is outside her body watching their figures. Manages to exclaim, "God…I love you..."

She sees electricity inside her eyelids and feels her whole body expand and contract, heated and chilled and unable to form thoughts or words beyond this simple expression. She feels him breathing, moving near her, but can't focus.

Blair gradually regains control of her body and turns a little, still riding electric endorphins over waves and waves. A pulsating, neon world that echoes around her like sonar.

She finds Chuck has settled on his side, is studying her, one hand possessively splayed across her abdomen, his legs tangled with hers. She can see by the dim light in the room that his pupils are still dilated from the sex, and his eyes are unnaturally black as he peers at her.

"Why do you love me?" His voice is husky, deep, she is lost for a moment, remembering other ways in which his voice and that mouth have teased her. It is a serious question but mere moments ago she recovered the top of her head and so she does not fully perceive, nor is she able to consider what her answer will mean on this day of all days.

"I don't know why," she retorts lightly, almost playfully, still out of breath and though her words exhale from her mouth blithe as air, she wishes she could swallow the sentence as soon as she says it.

Chuck averts his eyes, tries to hide the flash of hurt. She watches the mask begin to appear.

"You don't know?" He asks quietly and she sees immediately that this is a grave request of her, he so seldom asks for any validation. It is only in these rare moments that he reveals the truth she occasionally suspects—that he does not feel he deserves her or happiness.

Desperate to stave off the mask, the coolness, she quickly puts a hand on his face, tries to halt the shadow that crosses it. "No, that's a lie, I do know."

He is watching her carefully, her small hand framing one elegant cheekbone. She thinks he seems like a sculpture in this moment, still and poignant as marble.

His eyes are whiskey dark, pools of fire and liquid and hurt. She recognizes this look. Her mind reels and settles on a memory, walking into her room ready to fight only to find him slumped on her bed with desperation on his face. So much hurt inside him, she knows.

Blair continues honestly, sincerely. She is afraid, but knows that on this day she can be brave and tell him the truth. "Because in some ways you're my truest friend."

She pauses, because it seems mad to say so, but nonetheless irrefutable. Serena loves her but doesn't always gaze into her eyes completely, doesn't look too hard for the darker parts inside Blair. Chuck dares to search each dark corner, every murky thought. And tells her the truth, loves her more for the darkness.

She smiles at him, caresses his cheek lightly. He is rapt, glimmering, his physical presence has always loomed large, pulled at her, loosed her from whatever orbit she was in, and tonight it is even more so. She imagines she would still know him if she was blind, would still be drawn to him.

Blair continues, "I love you because all those years, you quietly knew who I was even when I didn't. While I played dress-up with Nate and lived half of myself. And then you helped me discover that part of myself that was actually..." She pauses, looks down. The corners of her mouth turn up.

"Horny?" Chuck suggests.

Blair laughs, feels relieved and renewed and happy. His face has transformed to flesh again and he is deliciously warm when she wraps herself around him.

She turns her face toward his ear. "I was going to say 'free,' but yes, that, also. And that's why, Bass." She looks into his eyes, searches his face and then lights up when something else occurs to her.

"Also you give great head."

He chuckles. "Damn right."

--------------------------------------------------------------------

An indiscriminate amount of time later she awakes with a start, realizes it is the middle of the night. She is in his bed, though she does not remember moving, she muses he must have carried her. After the couch she is not surprised at her gaps in memory, or that she passed out, she smiles inwardly at the thought. She stirs, stretches.

Chuck lies on his back next to her, his arms behind his head, his eyes open, staring into space. He is bare-chested, all smooth skin and graceful lines.

She surveys him quietly, considers the events of the night and him. When he feels her watching him he turns his head, looks into her eyes. Smiles almost imperceptibly.

"Thank you." He utters quietly.

"You're welcome," She replies. She cocks her head, doesn't want to push, but tentatively continues, "If you want to talk about it, you know, about your mother and father and everything, I'm—" Blair halts when he grins at her. "What?"

"I think I already did. I told you all about it, Poured my heart out. Into your—"

It is her turn to interrupt him to avoid whatever word ends that sentence, "Okay, got it! Never mind then! Glad you worked it out." But she is laughing, and when she meets his eyes he is appraising her with a hungry look on his face.

He stretches his arms over his head, emits a satisfied growl, and reaches for her.

He is wholly transformed, smiling. He is unguarded, open, and she feels all of her anxiety from earlier melting away, a smile blooms on her face.

She laughs, and he pulls her down against his chest, grinning. She lifts her face and kisses him. It is hot and leisurely and she forgets herself in his kiss for far longer than she intended.

Pulling away at last, she looks into his face.

"Blair—"

His voice is soft, low and warm. She looks into his eyes, sees the emotion, the intensity that seems to reach into her chest, causes her heart to beat wildly. It is powerful, what he can do to her with just a look. His fingers tangle in the hair at the back of her neck, pull her closer.

Her gaze remains locked with his. She perceives there is something he wants to say, his expression serious. She can see in his eyes a need that causes her to still, searching and waiting for him to speak.

His thumb grazes her cheek. He bites his lips together and exhales slowly, and she involuntarily holds her breath.

"You know, earlier? When you thought…" He trails off, imploring her to understand.

She nods slightly, afraid to move, to break the spell in this quiet room with only the dark as a witness.

"You don't have to worry about that anymore." He pauses, searches her face, seems to be waiting for some sign she understands. He apparently sees recognition because he continues quietly. "You're it for me, Waldorf. You should know that, this, you and me? Is it."

In the stillness she hears Chuck breathing, fast, shallow breaths. She smells his scent, peppery, fresh and clean.

She blinks down into his face, a face that is as familiar as her own, and she sees the expectation and raw emotion. She feels a tug in her chest and she knows she can believe him.

"Okay," she whispers.

He pulls her body forward, entwines his limbs around her, and rolls her until she is on her back again. He rests his full weight on her and his face hovers inches above hers. His eyes are black-gold and bottomless, and they draw her in again.

"Okay?" he repeats huskily, elegantly quirks one eyebrow.

"Okay," she says again, beginning to smile, until his mouth covers hers. She thinks—this is real. They kiss long and deep, tasting, feeling, reveling in the sensation.

Some time later he lifts his head and looks at her with heat in his eyes and what she suspects is adoration. His lower body has been almost imperceptibly moving against hers, gently rolling without insisting, summoning primal responses a little at a time. She breathes in deeply as she stares back at him.

She is overloaded by sensation—the luxurious weight of him, the thickness of his groin, the building of arousal extending outward from her center. She bends her knees, opens to his body, and he settles more firmly against her.

"Chuck—" she whispers, overwhelmed. She catches her breath, unable to find words.

"Do you want me?" Chuck whispers, grinding into her with a tilt of his lower body. He lowers his face to her neck, bites gently at the skin behind her ear.

She closes her eyes, fierce, violent want fills her. "God, yes."

"The couch was pretty amazing," he whispers, licking her clavicle. "You, me..." he catches her chin between his lips, "leather surfaces..." His hips continue to build a slow rhythm against hers while his mouth teases her throat. She is hypnotized, suspects it's possible she will do anything for him in this moment.

"Oh, God—" she whispers, her blood pounds like thunder in her ears. "Again?"

"Yes," he groans, and she voices her agreement as he makes his way up her neck to her earlobe.

He kisses her mouth, and she feels herself melting again, sinking into the bed, each cell in her skin singing.

They kiss a while longer, she grips his back with her hands, pulls him closer. She wants him, wants his hands on her and in her and she's frustrated when she can't get him any closer. So she acts.

Positions her palms on his shoulders, then pushes with as much strength as she can gather.

Chuck pulls back, interrupted while attempting to kiss her again, puzzled by her action. His eyes go wide, and she smirks in response, continues to push him. Surprising him is more than half the fun, but she isn't done yet.

He flops over onto his back, lets out a whoosh of air, and she crawls on top of him, straddles his thighs. He is prostrate in front of her, one side of his mouth starts to pull up into a smile.

"I could watch you all night," He tells her hoarsely, squirming slightly underneath her. He starts to sit up and pull her to him.

"Well now it's your turn," she says, shoving him roughly, and he falls back again. She crawls back over his legs, lowers her face to his abdomen and delicately nibbles the flesh just below his navel. She reaches for his lower body, pulls his boxers down, slides the heel of her palm up the underside of his shaft, he hisses and thrusts his hips.

She puts her mouth around him, and he gasps loudly, slams his eyes shut.

He threads his fingers through her hair as she focuses her attention on him, and then at once all things converge on her: the sounds he is making, the feel of his body moving beneath her, her pain from earlier, her relief, and finally the love she has for him and the hope for their future.

Blair comes back to herself when his hands still her movements, pull her up to him roughly. She meets his eyes questioningly and he pants through clenched teeth, "Need…you."

She gets the picture, rises to her knees, lowers herself onto him, her game forgotten, her own arousal overwhelming. When she makes contact with the tops of his thighs, her head rolls back on her shoulders. She supports herself with her palms against his waist, exhales a jagged breath.

He pushed his hips up against her slightly, and she relishes the feeling of her body molded fully around his. His hands roam her skin, he caresses her hips, encircles her waist, cups her shoulder blades and finally her breasts, brushing his thumbs over the stiff nipples.

The room shimmers around her. He stares back at her with eyes dark and infinite as oil. She leans forward, supports herself with her hands on either side of his head, stares deeply into those ink blot eyes.

His eyelids are heavy, his eyes glassy, but in them she can imagine she is peering into his soul. It is beautiful. She undulates her pelvis, shifts her hips a few times, her eyes slide halfway shut with a soft groan as she finds the right point of contact. She begins to rock against him with purpose.

Blair focuses on his eyes and the place where they are joined. In this moment, she feels complete, safe, loved. The room shimmers around her. They have been tested, God knows, over and over. Tested and now finally, finally, they have emerged on the other side. She thinks, she hopes, on the other side with everything to look forward to.


End file.
